


Sand and Gold

by Lightningpelt



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: (my crack at a rewrite of sorts bc its necessary), Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient Egypt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Loyalty, Millennium World, Sennen Items | Millennium Items
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-10-14 10:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17506922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightningpelt/pseuds/Lightningpelt
Summary: Prince Atem once found a small thief, and hid him for a time in the palace courtyard.The thief promised to return; to explain his hatred, and to have his vengeance.The Pharaoh and the King of Thieves were supposed to be enemies, but neither is willing to abandon the tenuous bond they forged as children. Now the Royal Priests, Seto foremost among them, try to recover their kidnapped Pharaoh, unaware that Atem left with the Thief King of his own accord. Bakura has declared war in the name of his beloved Kul Elna, and yet wears the Millennium Ring that Pharaoh willingly gave him.





	1. The Bones of What You Believe

**Author's Note:**

> _Guys you have no idea how excited I am for this fic._ Thank you so much for checking it out! :D 
> 
> This is canon-divergence, in that I've added a childhood meeting but kept canon events prior to said meeting otherwise unchanged (most notably, of course, Kul Elna). Do be aware, however, that I'm most familiar with the manga as opposed to the anime, so there's that. The "present" events of canon have no baring on this fic, as it takes place in the original time of the Pharaoh and the Thief King. 
> 
> While I'm quite the fan of Casteshipping, this fic was written as a gen fic. If Caste is a ship you enjoy, however, feel free to read into things as you will~ Same disclaimer goes for Mizushipping in later chapters. :3
> 
> That being said, I do hope you enjoy the fic, and thanks for stopping by~

_Give me the bones of_  
_What you believe_  
_Maybe they'll save you_  
_From me_  
_Will I be the strong hand_  
_Keeping you safe_  
_Or will I break you_  
_In half_  
[Strong Hand by Chvches](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3GxIhBQAyL8)

 

Prince Atem loved the palace courtyard in the moonlight. He liked the way the sand, so dull and dry in the day, was turned to silver stardust. He liked the coolness of the air, in summer, and even the rare frigidity of the desert winters. He liked the quiet—the lack of voices, and the solitude that came with sneaking out of his bedroom window in the dead of night.

His father, the pharaoh Akhenamkhanen, knew of these fondnesses; told him to at least let a guard or two keep him company. But Atem had no desire to do so, and so did not heed his father. He felt safe, within the palace grounds, and indeed had never strayed outside the walls.

On one such moonless night, the young prince—with scarcely ten years to his honored name—walked among the carefully cultivated flowers that lined the western side of the palace grounds. His head hung back, eyes wandering across the distant field of stars above. Though his body was weary, from the day’s activities, his mind was keenly alert. He thought of his father, fondly.

The scritch-scratch noise didn’t pique Atem’s interest right away; the young prince dismissed it as desert rats scrabbling at the palace wall just outside. But it grew louder and more rhythmic as Atem walked. Eventually he slowed, pressing one ear to the stone beside him, and the sound jumped into focus. It was the sound of digging, surely, but it seemed unlikely to Atem that small animals could make such a sound. _Not rats, then... a jackal, perhaps... or a wildcat..._  He wondered if there could be a desert lion on the other side of the wall. He’d never seen such a creature up close, though a beast-tamer had once been brought in to entertain his father's court at a banquet.

Across the courtyard, a single guard patrolled—Atem could scarcely make out the man’s silhouette, from his distance. Other than that, no living soul moved in the darkness. There would be more guards outside the palace’s perimeter, of course, but within the walls there was little need. Atem glanced back, toward the palace’s main section, and identified his father’s window high above. He could smell the palace kitchens nearby—a meaty and herbal scent that hung heavy in the air. He could hear the palace livestock shifting about in the stables.

Atem scrambled up; found the cracks in the wall with nimble fingers and bare toes. The top of the wall was carved decoratively, making it easy to scale. Atem paused at the summit, gazing out across the expanse of empty desert that flanked the palace’s westward side. The horizon was invisible, concealed by the night; where sand dunes became sky was for only the gods to know.

Atem glanced back at the palace, illuminated by the flames of torches and lamps. The stars paid the desert no such favors, and Khonsu hadn’t appeared in the sky that night.

The sound of scratching drew Atem’s attention once again, and he looked down. There was a shape near one of the palace’s rear gates, crouched just outside a circle of light from a torch mounted on the wall. It was a creature, surely, fixated on the ground. Atem tilted his head, then slithered down the wall. He felt a thrill of apprehension as his feet touched the sand—he was outside the palace.

Atem crept forward. The soft ground, still warm from the daytime sun, muted his steps. He realized that the creature was sitting upright and wondered if it might be a demon; he tried to recall the stories he’d heard of such beings. There was no telling what might’ve come out of the open desert behind the palace. Atem was scarcely a yard away from the creature.

Perhaps a demon, but perhaps not.

“Oh!”

The prince’s soft exclamation made the shape jerk; spin around to attention, and immediately stumble. It fell backwards, into the light of the torch. Atem drew a sharp breath; took a step back.

The shape was a child—no older than Atem himself, though somehow much smaller and frailer. His bones stuck out, sharp and unforgiving, casting deep shadows across his body in the dim light. But more horrifying was the wound—the festering clot of blood and fluids obscuring half his face, so swollen that his right eye was forced shut. Atem felt his stomach flip end-over-end; thought he might retch, but thought that would be horribly insensitive, and unbecoming of a prince besides.

The feral little child bore his teeth; tried to get up and failed, his legs folding like splintered twigs beneath him. His one eye was huge, terrified, and Atem, still hidden in shadow, saw when he started to tremble.

“Get away... don’t come any closer...!” The child's voice was a dry rasp, almost lost in the still night air; his narrow chest heaved. “Get away!”

Atem looked down; saw the claw-marks in the sand, and knew the boy had been digging. It took him a moment to realize why, however, and when he did his stomach twisted with pity.

“We bury things so the scavengers won’t find them,” he said softly, and the strange boy stiffened. “But you must’ve been watching.”

“Go away!” the thief spat again, managing a bit more volume. Atem did not obey, but crouched down on his haunches; stared, and thought.

The people who worked in the palace kitchens often buried inedible parts of food—gristly bits of meat, woody vegetable stalks, unsalvageably burnt bread—on the edge of the palace grounds, so that night hunters wouldn’t be attracted. But human scavengers didn’t rely on scent alone; couldn’t be fooled by a layer of topsoil and sand.

The thought of anyone eating the rubbish—dirt-encrusted rubbish, now, no less—made Atem’s throat close up.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

The other child shifted; gave a strange little whine, and again tried to rise. His legs wouldn’t support him.

“You’re sick,” Atem said, inching forward. The thief’s chest began to heave more violently. “That wound...”

The thief drew his lip back; snarled like a cornered animal, but seemed unable to flee. Atem stopped moving toward him, and again thought.

“Wait here. Please. I’ll be back. Just... wait here, okay?”

The thief didn’t reply; Atem could see the gleam of some liquid dripping down the right side of his face. The prince darted away, back along the palace wall. In his endless exploration, he’d found a gap in the stones, concealed from within by a patch of shrubbery. He crawled inside, ignoring the scrape of thorns as he wriggled back into the yard and dashed, quickly and quietly, back to the palace.

Prince Atem didn’t expect the thief to wait; didn’t expect him to still be there, when Atem returned. But he was, huddled up in a jumble of bones and threadbare clothes. For a moment, Atem thought he might not be breathing. As the prince neared, though, the thief startled to attention; scrambled up into a crouch, and again bore his teeth. Atem dropped down before he got too near, leveling their heights.

“Here. You don’t need to dig that up. See?” The prince held out a piece of cloth in upturned palms, upon which rested a small loaf of bread and a chunk of roasted meat pilfered from the slumbering palace kitchens, along with a waterskin. The thief’s eye—that one eye, glossy with fever and fatigue—widened sharply, and his fingers clutched at the dirt. He didn’t try to stand—it wouldn’t have worked, they both knew—but dragged himself closer. Atem wanted to move forward, to save him that tremendous effort, but didn’t; waited patiently, even as the thief hesitated.

“... Why?” the child croaked out, after a moment. His chest convulsed.

“You need it,” Atem said, and then placed the offerings on the ground.

Again the thief hesitated, eye flicking between Atem and the food and then back again. But eventually desperate instinct won out, and he pulled himself a bit farther forward. He fell upon the food, a starving animal, all growling and drool as he ate. Atem watched in morbid fascination, having never seen life pushed to such a breaking point and intrigued despite the nausea that threatened at the back of his own throat. Only once did the thief retch, a violent convulsion, but he didn’t vomit.

When the food had vanished, there was a moment of quiet—the thief’s wheezing breath was audible, but that was all. Then Atem inched forward.

“Come on.” Atem extended his hand. “You can’t stay here. They’ll find you if you come inside, but I’ll show you my best hiding place. Come on.”

The thief regarded him mistrustfully, his gaze far older than suited his small body. But he leaned forward; asked, “Why?” in a voice that did not rasp, but instead cracked.

“Because you’re hurt,” Atem said. “You might die.”

The thief stiffened; choked quietly and bent his head, shoulders shaking. “Because... I might... die...” he whispered, and Atem nodded.

“I don’t want you to die.”

“... I don’t want to die.”

The thief’s hand was calloused and dry, his fingers like brittle sticks. Atem pulled him gently along, guiding him through the hole in the wall and then deeper into the palace grounds, calling upon his knowledge of the guards’ routines and sticking to the deepest of shadows. At some point the thief managed to get to his feet and walk, and Atem wondered at the mysterious strength he possessed, even so close to death.

There was a massive statue of the pharaoh—of Atem’s father, Akhenamkhanen—at the rear of one courtyard. Looking up, Atem could see his own balcony directly above it. It had been peering down from that vantage point that he’d noticed the gap in the statue’s foundation, and upon exploration he’d discovered a small, natural cave within the stone construct, likely a crack that had widened steadily since the statue’s creation. It was nearly impossible to detect from the ground, and it was that spot that Atem took the tiny thief to. The thief shied away, for a moment, glaring up at the stone effigy, but then steadied and followed Atem inside.

Once they were deep within the stone, the thief dropped Atem’s hand; collapsed, his strength spent. Atem crouched beside him. In the near-pitch-black inside the statue’s base, the gruesome wound on the thief’s face was scarcely discernible.

“Who...?” the thief gasped out family, and Atem hesitated.

“I live here.”

“A... servant...?”

Atem remained silent, and the thief didn’t question him further.

“... I’m going to bring some more food and water, but don’t eat it all now,” Atem said, after a moment. “Sleep, and you’ll have it here when you wake up. I can’t see to treat your wound now, so I’ll be back in the morning, when there’s light.”

The thief didn’t speak—only watched Atem with that one shrewd, almost-but-not-quite-hostile eye of his. Atem nodded, if only to reassure himself, and then wriggled back outside. By the time he had returned—with not only more bread and water, but with bedding—the thief was unconscious. Atem gazed at him for a moment, perplexed by the turn his life had taken that peaceful night.

“Rest...” he murmured, and put the supplies down. “Rest. I’ll be back in the morning.”

... ... ...

Atem was weary, come morning, and irritated by his father’s oblivious good cheer. He suffered through breakfast and his morning lessons, then slipped away from Mahad at the first opportunity to check on the foundling stashed away in the base of pharaoh’s statue. He half expected the thief to have fled, but found the child exactly where he’d left him. The statue’s cracks allowed a fair amount of daylight into the little cave, and Atem saw, for the first time, the full extent of the damage to the thief’s tiny body. He was emaciated, the shape of each bone clear beneath his dried-papyrus skin, which was scuffed bloody in several spots. His gray hair was hopelessly matted. Most troublesome, the mass of flesh on his face was a menagerie of angry reds and purples, white ooze contrasting starkly against it.

“I brought more food,” Atem said; what he’d left the night before was gone.

The thief, while still physically shaky, seemed more alert. He accepted the parcel Atem offered; unwrapped it. He ate slowly, with relish laid bare despite his attempts to hide it, and sipped water. He didn’t speak.

“I brought medicine, too,” Atem said, after some time. “Can I look at your wound?”

“Your own pharaoh’s men did it,” the thief said, his voice muffled by bread. “To mark me as a _thief_.”

Atem swallowed; said, “I’d guessed. But the punishment for thievery isn’t death.”

“You’re right. I don’t die if I steal—I die if I _stop_ stealing. I starve.”

Atem shifted, uncertain of how to reply. Eventually, he motioned to the loaf of bread. “You didn’t have to steal that.”

“You’re right,” the thief said again. “ _You_ stole this.”

“I did not,” Atem said, a bit indignant. “That’s from my own breakfast.”

That seemed to catch the thief off-guard, and he didn’t reply.

“I’m going to take a closer look,” Atem asserted, after another pause. The thief didn’t speak, but fell still when Atem leaned in. He smelled of rot, sour, and the prince struggled to keep his nose from wrinkling. The damaged area was feverishly hot, and Atem took great care in cleaning away some of the dried blood and scabbing. The thief didn’t move; scarcely seemed to breathe as Atem worked. When Atem reached the flesh itself, though, the thief’s teeth grit subtly; he began to occasionally flinch, as Atem cleaned the wound.

Once the worst of the debris had been cleared, the shape of the wound became clear: a long slash, starting just above the eye and ending at the bottom of the cheek. There were a couple of smaller, lateral tears in the skin along the sides of the main cut.

“It didn’t get your eye?” Atem asked—the first words that had been spoken since the process began.

The thief said, quietly, “No.”

Atem sighed. “That’s good.” He finished cleaning and dressing the cut, treating it with the powerful herbal poultice that his father’s magicians made. When he’d finished, he shuffled backwards. “There.”

The thief blinked his good eye; touched the dressing lightly. Atem didn’t expect thanks, and didn’t receive them.

“If I live... and do terrible things...” the thief said at last, “you’ll have to live with that.”

“Why would you do terrible things?” Atem asked, genuinely perplexed. “You mean like thieving?”

The thief shook his head. “I hate your pharaoh. I’ll kill him, one day.”

Atem felt a chill down his spine, but didn’t let it show. “Why?”

But the thief didn’t answer; stared off to the side, growing quickly listless. Atem didn’t press.

“I’m going to run off,” the thief said, after some time had passed. “I’m not going to do anything to repay you. As soon as I can, I’m just going to disappear, and you can rot with the rest of your _kind_.”

“That’s fine,” Atem answered, and again had the satisfaction of catching the thief off-guard. “But please don’t leave before you’re ready. You might die.”

The thief gave a little snort—almost a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Atem said. “Stay here as long as you need—or as long as you want.”

The thief didn’t reply.

... ... ...

Atem returned that evening with food and fresh dressing for the thief’s wound.

“Palace food,” the thief said abruptly, though a mouthful of meat, “is even _better_ than I ever _dreamed_.”

It was the most emphatic thing Atem had yet heard him say, and it made the young prince laugh. “I’m glad.”

“Though rotten fish would probably taste good, at this point,” the thief said, a dry note of humor in his voice. 

“Maybe, but palace food is a lot better than rotten fish.”

“True.” The thief paused; he was watching Atem carefully, out of the corner of his good eye, as Atem worked on his injury. “... You’re not going hungry, right?”

“What?”

“You said it was your food you brought me, this morning.”

Atem felt a surge of surprise. “No. I’m okay. It’s okay, really.”

The thief’s eye narrowed, just slightly. “Either you’re lying, or you palace folk sure eat richly.”

“We do,” Atem said, almost apologetically. He didn’t usually avail himself of the near-limitless food available to him on a daily basis, but for once it was proving useful. Egypt was a prosperous place, since his father had brought peace to the war-torn country with the mysterious Millennium Items, and the pharaoh and his chosen enjoyed the best fruits of that prosperity. “A little too richly, for my taste.”

The thief seemed to consider that, then shrugged and closed his eyes. “It benefits me, right now, so I’m not complaining. Judging, for sure, but not complaining.”

Again Atem laughed; finished with dressing the thief’s wound. He waited until the thief was done eating, then said, “I could bring some water, if you’d like to bathe. There isn’t much room in here, but...”

The thief nodded slowly; said, “That’d be... nice...”

Atem slipped out; fetched a couple of pitchers of water and soap. He brought some of his own clean clothes, as well.

The thief took great care to clean the grime from his skin. It seemed to Atem, observing the behavior, that he must have lived with every human dignity at some point, and that saddened the young prince. _What led you to this...?_ he wondered, watching as the thief meticulously untangled his hair; rinsed it twice, then once more for good measure. _Where is your family...? With how well you speak, how you act... you couldn’t have been raised by the jackals..._

When the thief had dried himself, he pulled on Atem’s clothes; sighed quietly at their softness before he could check himself. He cleared his throat crossly.

“Feel better?” Atem asked.

“Human,” the thief answered, unwittingly echoing Atem’s earlier thoughts. “I feel human.”

“Because you are.”

“Yeah...”

For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke. Then Atem gathered up the pitchers and dirty cloth; said, “I’ll be back.”

“Do what you want,” was the thief’s muttered answer.

Atem smiled; repeated, “I’ll be back.”

... ... ...

Atem visited the thief briefly the next morning, and returned once again in the evening with a senet board tucked under one arm.

“What’s that?” the thief asked; his voice, muffled by a mouthful of roast meat, wasn't hostile, and that warmed the young prince.

“Senet. Haven’t you ever played it?”

“Have. Like mehen better.”

Atem laughed, surprised. “I’ll bring a mehen board next time, then.”

The thief looked at him curiously, cleaning the grease from his fingers with long, languid strokes of his tongue. “Huh? You want _me_ to play?”

Atem tilted his head; he’d placed the board down between them. “I thought you might be bored.”

Then it was the little thief’s turn to laugh; it was a surprisingly warm sound, and Atem smiled. “Bored? I could eat and sleep like this for years and not get bored of it.”

“Do you want to play a game of senet?”

The thief smiled—a touch wryly, the wrappings on his face crinkling with the movement. “Sure. Let’s play.”

They played far more than a single game—they played, indeed, until the light was gone and they were forced to quit. Atem promised to bring a mehen board the next day; the thief thanked him.

... ... ...

“You’re in a good mood, son,” Pharaoh Akhnamkanon commented, smiling across the breakfast table.

Prince Atem nodded; he was busy tucking food into his pockets while still trying to sate his own hunger (as he had, despite what he might tell the little thief, been going a bit hungry). It had been nearly a week since Atem had first encountered the thief, and still he was hiding beneath the statue of the pharaoh.

“Have you got a new friend among the palace children?” the father asked gently. Atem gave a small, noncommittal shrug. “Well, I hope you’re having fun.”

“I am!” Atem exclaimed, and beamed at his father—at his pharaoh, whom the little thief claimed to hate. Atem wondered, yet again, why that could possibly be. He resolved to ask, during their game of mehen that day.

“Why?” The thief answered question with question as he rolled the dice; moved his marker and took a bite of bread. “Because this is all his fault.”

“What is?” Atem pressed, picking up the dice; giving them a shake before tossing them, and then moving his own game piece accordingly.

“You’ll understand, some day. When I’m older, I’ll come back and explain it.”

The little thief’s strength seemed to be returning, bit by bit, and his wound was healing well. Each day, Atem expected to find that he’d run off; each day, the thief was still there, waiting for his visits.

“Where do you come from?” Atem asked, watching with slight anxiety as the thief’s game piece closed in on his own. He rolled the dice; got a three.

“A place that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Atem wasn’t sure how to reply; the thief overtook him, rounding a curve in the snake.

“Your family?” Atem asked eventually.

“They don’t exist anymore, either.”

“I’m sure they’re living well in A'aru.”

“I’m sure they aren’t.” The thief’s voice was bitter, and Atem tilted his head.

“Why do you say that?”

The thief didn’t reply; moved his game-piece to the center of the board, and said, “I’m the snake, now.”

Atem nodded; rolled the dice, and set his marker to fleeing back in the other direction.

“Their ba and ka were destroyed, along with their bodies,” the thief said, after a moment, and Atem stiffened. “There’s nothing left of them to be judged, or to make it into the afterlife.”

“That can’t...” Atem murmured, and caught the gleam of tears on the thief’s cheeks. He fell silent.

“Got you,” the thief said softly, as his game piece reached Atem’s. He swept them both off the board; asked, “We’ll switch to senet?”

And Atem replied, “Sure. Senet it is.”

... ... ...

Several days later, Atem arrived at the statue at dusk; it had been more difficult than usual to slip away from his friends among the palace-folk.

“Sorry...” he gasped out, upon finally squirming into the little alcove. The thief looked up, unruffled. “It’s too dark now to play anything, I think...”

“It’s fine,” the thief said, an oddly sad note to his voice. When Atem made a questioning noise, he said, “I’ll be leaving, tomorrow.” Atem laughed breathlessly, and the thief tilted his head.

“I’m so glad you told me...” the prince murmured, and the thief looked away.

“Yeah... well... whatever...”

Atem edged forward; the food he’d brought, for once, sat untouched. “You don’t have to. If I talk to Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen, vouch for you, I’m sure—“

“No!” The thief’s voice was sharp; furious. It dropped again, though, immediately. “No... sorry, but... no. I could never... I mean... I _hate_ your stinking pharaoh. I stand by that. I’ll kill him, one day. And everyone close to him.”

Atem felt a deep stab of remorse, but didn’t argue.

“I’ll come back, one day, I swear it,” the thief said. “Then you’ll understand. If you’re still here, at the palace...”

 _I’ll be here, for sure..._ Atem thought, with a trace of humor. What he said aloud was, “I’ll look forward to it.”

The thief didn’t respond; unwrapped the meal that Atem had brought him. The wound on his face had improved—it would leave quite the scar, but it was no longer open or raw. It would heal. He ate slowly, with relish, chewing thoroughly before swallowing each bite. He looked far less hollow than he had; his bones were still visible, prominently, but he no longer appeared frail and skeletal.

“You’ll miss the food, won’t you?”

The thief chuckled. “I’ll miss that. I’ll miss a few things.”

Atem stopped short of asking what else he would miss. The thief wouldn’t be convinced to stay, he was certain. Atem had no desire to sour their farewell with an argument.

“Do you need anything? Before you go?”

The thief shook his head; didn’t reply. Atem sat patiently while he finished his meal, and then they shared the silent stillness of the statue’s interior. When Atem made the slightest move, though, the thief reached out; caught his wrist. Atem stiffened, surprised, and met the thief’s gaze—both his eyes, clear and bright in the darkness. His grip was strong; his fingers no longer like brittle twigs.

“Stay with me tonight. Please?”

While there was no trace of vulnerability in the thief’s voice, it was laid bare in his eyes. And, although aware that it might cause trouble, Atem could do nothing but nod.

“Sure. I will. Of course.”

Atem leaned back against the stone; was surprised when the thief lay not only beside him, but against his shoulder. After a moment, the thief snuggled further into him, pressing their small bodies close.

“Is this okay?”

“Of course... it’s fine, of course...”

When Prince Atem woke, the defused dawn light rousing him, he was alone. The golden bangles he’d been wearing were missing, and that made him happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave a comment or kudos if you liked the first chapter, they give me life~ I'll see you soon with the next installment! :D


	2. If I Can Live Through This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should warn you folks that the whole "Mania" album was such a muse for this fic, so this chapter isn't the last time you'll see a song off of it quoted~ ~~_Church_ probably won't make the cut because it's a bit too shippy, but honestly, that is such a Casteshipping anthem for me I can't handle it...~~
> 
> Also, "We’ll make sure the canopic jar for your guts is a somewhat larger one" has to be one of my favorite quotes from the manga. x'D
> 
> This is one of my favorite chapters overall~ (which is saying something, considering there are fourteen chapters drafted right now?) I do hope you enjoy it! :D

_I'm calling you from the future_  
_To let you know we've made a mistake_  
_There's a fog from the past that's giving me, giving me such a headache_  
_And I'm back with a madness_  
_I'm a champion of the people who don't believe in champions_  
_I got nothing but dreams inside, I got nothing but dreams_  
_I'm just young enough to still believe, still believe_  
_But young enough not to know what to believe in_  
_Young enough not to know what to believe in_  
[Champion (Fall Out Boy)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uhEictEW_c)

___  
_ _ _

The Thief King gazed out across the royal city; grinned.

It had been nearly ten years since he had been to the palace. He had kept his promise, and returned. 

“I’m back...” he murmured, relishing the feel of the wind in his long red robe. _It doesn’t matter if you remember me... I remember you. I’ll have my vengeance... and I’ll keep you beside me._

It had occurred to the Thief King, during his endless ruminations on the subject, that the boy from the palace may not be merely a servant—the more the thief thought about it, the more sense that made. But it didn’t matter. If the palace child was a nobleman’s son, now grown into a noble himself, or a royal magician, or even one of the pharaoh’s high priests, it didn’t matter. 

_You may hate me... when I take my vengeance... but I won’t let you perish along with your pharaoh. I won’t let you die with your kingdom, because you didn’t let me die, that lifetime ago._ The Thief King clenched his fists; felt his heart begin to beat almost uncomfortably fast. _I’ll keep you with me, after I take the Millennium Items... after I claim the dark powers that I seek. I’ll have vengeance, for my beloved Kul Elna... and I’ll save you, keep you beside me, to repay your kindness..._

_I’ve come back._

... ... ... 

Pharaoh Atem sat on his throne, listless. He hadn’t slept well, the night before; each time he’d drifted off, he’d started awake as if in answer to a call of his name.

He could hear Siamun, beside him, talking about something that was probably important, and that kept him awake—barely. There was a petty thief being judged; his priests, Seto in the lead, were bringing about the pathetic man’s punishment. 

_This thief... is nothing like..._

Atem often wondered if the small thief was still alive. If Atem looked at things from a strictly analytical viewpoint, the chances were rather slim. The thief may have recovered some of his strength, under Atem’s watch, but he’d still been precious more than bones and spite when he’d left. The wound on his face had been healing well, but it could have easily torn open again and started festering. He could have gotten sick. He could have starved. He could have been killed. 

When Atem really thought about it, though, he found it hard to believe the thief was dead. 

Priest Seto was advocating for having the petty criminal drawn and quartered; Atem spared a moment to be irritated by the priest’s overzealous approach. Akhenaden didn’t let things go too far, however, and announced a sentence of hard labor for attempting to rob the tomb of the previous pharaoh—of Atem’s father, Akhenamkhanen. 

“Great Pharaoh!” That was Seto again, and Atem started. “I request permission to enlist more troops to strengthen the guards at the Valley of Kings!” 

“Er, yes...” Atem replied, trying to hide his lapse of attention. “I leave it to you...!” 

Then Siamun began chattering about secret preparations for Atem’s own tomb—a subject the Pharaoh had no real desire to discuss. He was disturbed by the attempt at robbery of his father’s tomb, of course, but was too preoccupied with matters of the living to be concerned about his own inevitable death. He trusted Siamun with that task, and wished his valued adviser didn’t feel the need to talk to him about it in excess. 

“What is it, Isis?!” 

Atem looked up at Akhenaden’s shout; watched as Isis announced, “My Millennium Tauk has picked up a... disturbing... future. An evil shadow approaches this palace... someone with incredible powers of _heka_!” 

Atem shook off the last of his weariness as Mahad, too, said, “My Millennium Ring has detected a great shadow power...” 

Several guards rushed in, then, one shouting, “Your highness!” and another calling, “A grave robber calling himself Bakura, King of Thieves, is heading toward the pharaoh’s chamber!” 

As his priests expressed disbelief and indignation, Atem sat up straighter. _Grave robber? King of Thieves? Coming here?!_

And then, from the darkness of the entryway, the grand hallway that lead to the pharaoh’s chamber, a shape became visible. Guards closed in and were knocked aside as gnats; the priests, instinctively, closed ranks around their pharaoh. 

“At last... the throne room...” 

Atem stiffened; there was something about the voice, deeper though it had grown, that stirred an old memory in him. The thief was clothed in a grand red robe and decadent gold—funerary gold. He wore a maize hood that all but hid his gray hair. 

“Lose something?” the grave-robber continued. “Here!” He let an array of funerary relics fall with a clatter. “These are the treasures I just removed from Akhenamkhanen’s tomb! I even brought this thing I found in the coffin! Can’t you set better traps than that?!” 

The grave-robber’s words were clearly meant for the pharaoh, but he was scanning the other people in the room intently; searching for something or some _one_ , clearly. Atem’s heart leaped up into his throat, then stopped altogether as he stared at the thief—the so called King of Thieves, who had come dragging the mummified body of Atem's beloved father, the previous pharaoh. 

“I’ve come for the Millennium Items...” the thief continued, and at last turned toward Atem. Then he, too, stalled; seemed to lose his line of thought, for a moment, as their eyes met. 

Atem saw the scar—the deep slash down the right side of the thief’s face. His first feeling was near-overpowering relief that it had healed so well, after all. 

“To step unbidden before the throne of the pharaoh is a serious crime!” Shada’s voice broke in. “You will not be forgiven!” 

The thief seemed to give himself a shake; averted his gaze, staring up toward the ceiling. 

“There’s something I _want_ ,” he growled, his voice far less manic than before. “Your Millennium Items—I’ll ask you once nicely... will you give all seven to me? Well?” 

Atem gripped the armrests of his throne; started to rise, and then stalled. _Millennium Items..._ His eyes flicked from the thief to his father—his poor father’s battered mummy. 

“Heh heh... For a miserable thief, to stand before the six priests takes courage... We’ll make sure the _canopic_ jar for your _guts_ is a somewhat _larger_ one,” Priest Seto said, a nasty little smile on his face. 

Then Akhenaden was off about the Millennium Items, but Atem couldn’t listen; could only watch as the thief’s eyes flicked from the ceiling to the priests and then to _him_ , Pharaoh Atem, and then back to the ceiling. The King of Thieves took one shifting step backwards. 

“If a person like _you_ ,” Akhenaden was saying, “with a heart of _evil_ , were to touch a Millennium Item, your very soul would burn away.” 

_No..._ Atem thought. _No... but your heart isn’t evil... tell them they’re wrong..._

“You excite me,” was the thief’s reply, with a slightly strained smile. “Now I want them even _more_! I’ll take on all of you priests at once!” 

“There’s nothing to worry about, Pharaoh,” Siamun said softly, misinterpreting the Pharaoh’s tension. “The thief should be the one to worry... No sane person could stand against the heka of the six priests!” 

_No sane person..._ Atem’s eyes remained fixed on the thief. _No sane person would try to dig up those scraps to eat... but you were desperate. You were dying. Something_ pushed _you... What’s pushing you to act this way now?!_

A blank stone slab stood at the ready; Siamun said solemnly, “His ka is likely low-level... it will soon show its evil form... and be sealed into the stone by the heka of the priests!” 

But as the thief—as Bakura, self-proclaimed King of Thieves—braced himself, his eyes fell once again onto Atem. The Pharaoh saw confusion there, conflict... but also conviction, unshakable. 

_“I_ hate _your stinking pharaoh. I stand by that. I’ll kill him, one day.”_

 _“I’ll come back, one day, I swear it. Then you’ll understand.”_

_You kept your promise..._

The priests stirred, clearly distressed; Shada recoiled with a shout, upon looking into the thief’s soul. And then Bakura, King of Thieves, summoned his ka. 

“Stop it!” Atem yelled, rising from the throne despite Siamun’s shout of objection. His voice was drowned by the roar of the thief’s ka—of Diabound, the god-spirit. While the priests were in disarray, questioning how that could be, the thief once again met Atem’s gaze. 

_A god-type ka..._ was all the Pharaoh could think, his heartbeat quickening with awe. The glimmering silver serpent opened its jaws wide, the ka's humanoid figure staring down at the court in stoic judgement. _I should be surprised. I’m not surprised, though, not at all... A god-type ka which rises to stand against the pharaoh and his priests... What grievance have you, Bakura, that a_ god _dwells within you?!_

Priest Seto attempted to seal the thief’s ka, but the sealing stone shattered after a few heartbeats. It seemed the thief should shout something mocking or triumphant, but his face was grim; he kept his silence as Priest Seto stepped forward to challenge him. 

_Stop... stop this...!_ Atem nearly cried it out once again, but couldn’t think of a way to explain the order. _Stop... please..._

When Priest Seto‘s servant was defeated, all the priests moved to attack at once; Diabound, and its master the Thief King, stood unflinchingly against them. 

_Someone will die...!_ Atem thought, his heart pounding as the priests and the thief clashed. _He’ll kill one of my priests... or they’ll kill him... but either way... someone is going to die...!_ It was that thought that drove him forward, despite the wild grab that Siamun made for him, toward the raging battle. 

“Stop this! Stop!” he shouted, and the thief spun sharply toward him. The ground beneath Atem’s feet lurched as one of the priest’s attacks flew wide, narrowly missing him, and he stumbled. 

“Pharaoh!” Priest Seto’s voice rose, horrified and furious. “Look out! Get down!” 

Atem had no time to dodge the next attack, clearly aimed for the King of Thieves. But before it could strike him, a wall of white scales rose up; knocked him violently forward, onto his hands and knees. The blast of heka hit Diabound’s flank instead of the Pharaoh, and the serpent-ka gave a deafening shriek of pain. Atem, on the ground, stared fixedly at the thing lying inches from him—at his beloved father’s mummy, tattered and beaten with a humiliating rope tied about its neck and the foot of the Thief King planted firmly between its shoulder blades. The noise of battle faded, even the priests’ frantic shouting muffled as Diabound coiled tighter around the three figures, encompassing them in an artificial little cave. 

The King of Thieves stepped down from the old pharaoh’s body; crouched, on one knee, to level their heights. 

“It is you...” he murmured, with such tenderness that Atem’s throat ached as if with coming tears. “By the gods...” 

“And it’s you...” the Pharaoh replied, pushing himself up onto his knees. He met the thief’s bright eyes, and said, “You kept your promise.” 

The Thief King’s eyes widened. “You remembered.” 

“How could I forget?” the Pharaoh asked, honestly. And the Thief King chuckled. 

A sudden explosion rocked their enclosed little world, and the Thief King pitched forward; the two of them grasped one another spontaneously, for balance, and then immediately sprang apart. Atem scrambled to his feet, eyes wild. 

“I can’t...” he murmured, and glanced over as the Thief King rose beside him. The thief’s gaze had a hostile edge to it, once again—a feral gleam, like the look he’d had that very first night. “You have to...” 

“I’ll do what I came here to do,” the thief growled, and another barrage of attacks made Diabound scream. 

“No!” Atem snapped, and for a second the thief looked over at him, surprised. “You can’t win against them. I’ll handle this.” 

“You underestimate me, _Pharaoh_ ,” the Thief King growled. 

Atem felt panic spike his blood; the powerful heka building up just outside of Diabound’s coils made his skin prickle. “Don’t—I’m not! I mean... trust me! Trust me, please!” 

“Trust _you_?!” the thief snarled, and then bore his teeth. “Why should I? You’re the _Pharaoh_!” 

And Atem replied, his voice steady, “I have never lied to you.” 

The thief’s hostility melted, suddenly; his shoulders dropped, and his expression eased. He still said, “A lot can change in ten years.” 

“But you kept your promise,” Atem replied. “Let me show myself to be just as dependable.” 

The Thief King hesitated for a moment longer, then reached back; touched the trembling flank of his ka, Diabound. 

“Come back, Diabound. You’ve done enough. Thanks.” There was a rumble of uncertainty from the great serpent, and the Thief King glanced over at Atem. He took a deep breath that rattled in his narrow chest, and said, “I trust you.” 

Atem nodded; braced himself. 

Diabound dissipated in a great gust of wind; the priests were buffeted, and Siamun actually skidded several steps backwards. Then they leaped forward, servant monsters poised to strike from a dozen different angles. 

“Don’t hit the Pharaoh!” Priest Seto’s shout rose, just faintly, above the cacophony. “Aim only for the thief!” 

The Thief King crouched low, eyes wild; defenseless, suddenly. The sight made Atem’s heart lurch, and he raised his hands. 

“Stop! Don’t attack!” 

The priests hesitated, even as Atem moved physically in front of the Thief King; paced, slightly, to make himself harder to aim around. 

“Dismiss your servants!” Atem shouted, summoning every scrap of authority he possessed in his voice. “He’s surrendered! Do you hear me?! Dismiss your servants!” 

Mahad stepped slightly forward, and his Magus of Illusion drifted backwards—didn’t vanish, but at least distanced itself. “Pharaoh... are you certain? We could—“ 

“No!” Atem called, sweeping out one hand to further create a barrier; he felt the thief shift behind him, and prayed, _Oh gods, don’t jump, Thief... don’t make a move... they’ll kill you... they’ll really kill you...! Trust me...!_ “This is my order—dismiss your servants!” 

“The Pharaoh’s speaking nonsense!” Priest Seto shouted. “That thief must have done something to him, just now!” 

“He did no such thing!” Atem’s voice rose, desperate. “Seto! Do not question me so! Not now of all times!” 

“Lord Pharaoh, to take such a man prisoner would mean...” Siamun began. 

Priest Akhenaden took a step forward. “Pharaoh, I would advise—“ 

“Noted, Akhenaden, and dismissed!” Atem shouted; his priest stalled. “My order stands! Dismiss your servants!” 

“Shada?” Mahad asked, turning. “Can the Key detect any evil that might be influencing the Pharaoh?” 

Shada shook his head. “No... there’s nothing unusual within the Pharaoh’s soul...” 

“Isis?” Mahad asked. 

The priestess cupped the Millennium Tauk in both palms; closed her eyes. Her breath quickened, head tipping back for a moment. Mahad, alarmed, moved towards her, but she recovered a moment later. 

“I see...” Isis breathed, and then met Atem’s gaze. She lowered her head. “I see the thief in chains. He has surrendered.” 

Mahad let out a long sigh of relief; dismissed his ka. Siamun rushed forward, and Atem moved subtly to keep himself between the Thief King and his adviser. 

“Are you truly uninjured, Lord?” Siamun asked, and Atem nodded. 

“I am.” He turned towards the Thief King—Bakura, by name. _Please... please trust me... just a bit longer..._

Bakura held his gaze; gave a nearly imperceptible nod. 

“See this so-called King of Thieves taken down to the dungeons. I must tend to my poor father.”

... ... ... 

Thief King Bakura made no trouble being led down to the dungeons. Pharaoh Atem scooped his father’s bartered body from the ground; held it close, and wept briefly when the trauma caught up with him. He apologized, in furtive whispers, to his father—apologized for the heinous dishonor, and for the fact that he had no intention to take vengeance for what had been done, as a good son should. Then he handed the mummy over to Siamun and Mahad, with the utmost faith that his father would be laid properly to rest once more. He told the other priests that he was going to rest; they bade him go—they would tend to everything, of course. Atem felt a stab of guilt regarding his deception.

When he reached the dungeons, the guards were surprised to see him—without any entourage, no less. But Pharaoh Atem informed them, calmly and with all the authority of his title, that he’d come to question the prisoner, the King of Thieves. They asked him if he’d like assistance; he thanked them, and assured them it wouldn’t be necessary. 

“Please,” he added, “there’s no need for my priests to know about this. They worry over me so much already, I hate to give them more reason to do so.” 

And the guards, awed by their kind Pharaoh’s intentions, agreed. 

The Pharaoh arrived at the cell of the Thief King; let himself in. 

“Gods damn... I told them not to...” he muttered, leaning up to unlock the chains that held the Thief King’s hands high above his head. 

Bakura sighed with relief as his arms dropped, then rubbed at his wrists. “I wasn’t surprised. I killed quite a few of your guys, after all, even before I brought Diabound out.” 

Atem’s eyes narrowed; he was on his knees, now, freeing Bakura’s ankles from their shackles as well. “I am a little cross about that.” 

“I told you you might hate me, when I came back.” 

Atem sighed. “I don’t hate you. I’m a little cross, that’s all.” 

Bakura chuckled. “What a guy... So, you were the pharaoh’s son all along, huh?” 

Atem nodded; sat beside him, on the cell floor. “I was.” 

“Fancy that.” Bakura chuckled; rubbed his ankles, as he had his wrists. 

Atem took the opportunity to examine the thief in more detail—while recognizable by his scar and ratty grey hair, he was far from the half-dead foundling that Atem had once sheltered. His muscles were well-defined, but wiry; there wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh between them to soften the lines, and he had a look of chronic hunger about him. He was slightly taller than Atem, now, but perhaps not as tall as he should have been, under ideal conditions; his eyes were bright, keen, but ringed with shadows of fatigue. His skin was calloused, worn rough by wind and sand. He had the look of an outlaw—a wild beast. 

Despite that, he ducked his head for Atem; looked at the Pharaoh with due wariness, but without hostility. “What now?” 

Atem sighed. “I don’t know... I’m just glad no one else died, today... if you’d killed one of my priests, I doubt I would’ve been able to stop the others.” 

“You talk like I was going to lose,” Bakura said, with humor. “I wasn’t, you know. Diabound could’ve beaten them all.” 

“I’ve no doubt,” Atem said, although he couldn’t say for certain who he thought would have won.

“You’re just glad no one _died_ ,” the Thief King guessed, with a sneer. “No one except a couple of those _weaklings_ you had posted out-front, of course.” 

“Don’t!” Atem’s voice was sharp, and the Thief King stiffened. “Those were my men. I understand, in times of violence, that such things happen. But those were _my loyal men_ that I must now bury, and they died defending _me_. You won’t speak so lightly of their lives, which _you_ took.” 

Bakura’s lip drew back, and for a moment it looked as if he might argue. Then he let out a breath; smiled. “Sorry. My bad.” 

Atem, too, breathed out heavily; said, “I know. It’s fine.” 

There was a moment of silence—comfortable silence, even after so many years. The dimness of the dungeons evoked memories of the little cave beneath the pharaoh’s statue, and with that came a warm rush of familiarity. 

“Are you eating alright?” Atem asked, and Bakura smiled. 

“I’ve never eaten anything that compares to palace food.” 

“I’ll bring you some, later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving kudos or a comment if you're so inclined, and I'll see you in the next chapter~


	3. It's only going to steal your breath and slip away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I do hope this chapter is worth the wait~

_I don't want to dive in first_  
_You don't want to hear these words_  
_It's only going to make it worse_  
_You don't want to live that curse_  
_You're telling me to keep my hope_  
_Cause you've got a heart of gold_  
_But maybe you should let me go_  
_I'll love you through a periscope_  
[Periscope by Papa Roach (feat. Skylar Grey) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7IKk978EpM)

Pharaoh Atem went about his expected duties that evening; shared supper with Priest Mahad and his apprentice, Mana, who was desperate for a recount of the day’s events. Mahad told the story well, albeit with exaggerated emphasis on the Pharaoh’s bravery and strength.

Then Atem retired; went to his chamber and blew out the lanterns. He lay in the darkness for some time, making an effort not to fall asleep despite his fatigue. He listened to the sounds of palace life fade and, eventually, fall silent. Only then did he rise, slink from his warm bed, and steal out into the corridors. 

Atem encountered no one on his way to the kitchens, and he managed to dodge two servants on his way to the dungeons. He had no faith in his ability to think up an excuse for his late-night visit, so he risked sneaking past the guards entirely. 

“Bakura!” Not wanting to startle the thief, Atem called his name softly through the bars. The Thief King still bolted up, but relaxed a moment later as Atem let himself into the cell. 

“This brings back memories, ay?” Bakura asked, keeping his voice low. “What would your priests _think_ , hmm?” 

“I’m quite hoping they don’t find out,” Atem admitted, then unpacked the basket of food he’d brought. 

Bakura’s eyes widened. “You didn’t actually have to—“ 

“Tell me the guards brought you _anything_ ,” Atem cut him off. 

“Well, no...” 

“Prisoners get fed twice daily—morning and evening. They should’ve brought you something. But I’m guessing they’re more than a little upset that you aren’t dead yet, so they just decided not to bring you supper.” 

“You’ve got some nasty folks working for you, Pharaoh, to treat a prisoner like that.” 

“You killed their comrades.” 

Bakura didn’t reply, staring listlessly at the food. Atem saw the tension in his shoulders; saw his eyes flashing strangely, although that could have been blamed on the half-light cast by the torches.

“Eat up,” the Pharaoh urged suddenly, and Bakura jumped. “Come on. Don’t—I mean... don’t act all depressed, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.” 

“I don’t understand how you can say that...” the Thief King murmured. “I don’t understand why I let you get me into this...” 

“Please,” Atem scoffed. “Your Diabound can go through solid stone, right? You could get out of here any time you wanted.” 

Bakura gave him a miserable little smirk. “You noticed that, hmm?” 

“For some reason, though, you’re staying,” Atem said, then reached out; caught Bakura’s hand. It was rough to the touch, the skin dry. The Thief King looked startled, but didn’t pull away. “I’m glad. So the least I can do is make sure you’re eating well, down here in the dungeons.” 

Bakura chuckled; gently took his hand back, and picked up a chunk of bread. “That’s weird logic,” he said, and took a bite. “Next thing I know, you’ll bring down a senet board, just for old time’s sake.” 

“Would you play a game with me, if I did?” 

“Maybe.” But the Thief King’s hands had begun to shake; Atem didn’t try to restart the conversation, watching as the thief wolfed down a piece of roast meat like the wild animal he so resembled. Atem even worried that he might choke, but he didn’t; finished off the food within minutes and then sat back; sighed, with a satisfied grin. 

“Gods that was a good meal...! I can’t remember the last time I ate like that...” 

“I’m glad,” Atem said honestly, although saddened by the statement—the meal in question had been nothing extraordinary, by palace standards. “Don’t worry about things like that, for now.” 

Bakura gave him a baleful, half-lidded look. “I don’t need you to take care of me, Pharaoh. I’m not some half-starved little stray anymore.” 

“I know,” Atem said. “But... I mean...” 

“Besides—you’re the _Pharaoh_ ,” the Thief King continued, toying with the cloth that the food had been laid out on. “I’m not thrilled about accepting charity from _you_ , of all people.” 

“Why did you hate my father?” When Bakura didn’t reply, Atem pressed gently, “You said you’d explain—when you returned, you said I’d understand.” 

“Not tonight,” Bakura muttered, looking away. “Not tonight. To much’s happened already, today.” 

“Tomorrow, then?” 

“What are you going to _do_ with me, really?” Bakura demanded. “This isn’t like then—I’m no secret, now. The whole palace knows about me. You’ll get plenty of pressure to kill me, or at least chop off my hands. They won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And if you manage to refuse, someone will come at me themselves, behind your back. Then I’ll have to defend myself, and Bast’ll be out of the bag.” 

Atem shifted. “That’s... I mean, I don’t know. Yet. But that’s why I need you to tell me everything—why you did what you did, why you hated my father... why you probably would have fought my priests to the death today, if I hadn’t stopped it.” 

“I was prepared for you to be a noble, maybe even a priest,” Bakura said, instead of replying directly. “I thought I’d kill the pharaoh, and whoever else I needed to kill, except for you, and I’d keep you with me. I was even ready for you to hate me, for it. But I never thought _you_ would be sitting on that stupid throne, that I’d come in dragging _your father_ of all damned mummies.” 

“I’m still rather upset about that, too,” Atem put in dryly, but Bakura didn’t bite; remained serious. 

“He did terrible things, your father. I’m sorry he was you father, but I’d still feed his mummy to the jackals and his soul to Ammit, if I could. Without regret.” 

Atem swallowed; made sure his voice was steady before he said, “Well, I suppose I’m glad you can’t do either of those things.” 

Bakura chuckled, at that, but it lacked genuine humor. He folded up the cloth; tossed it back into the basket. “Thanks for the food.” 

“Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow with that senet board.” 

“... I’ll look forward to it.”

... ... ... 

Atem couldn’t stop yawning the next morning, to the point where Mahad and Siamun both expressed concern over breakfast. But the time he’d spent with Bakura the night before was well worth the weariness. Breakfast also saw a return to old habits—to tucking extra food away as subtly as he could, whenever Mana and Mahad and Siamun weren’t looking.

“Good morning,” Atem greeted the guards, who were again surprised to see him. “Has the prisoner been taken a morning meal?” 

One of the guards looked duly abashed, while the other scowled deeply. Knowing he’d caught them once again, the Pharaoh smiled. 

“No, no, that’s a good thing. I’ll take him something now—perhaps I can get some information out of him, that way. Aren’t wild animals far more amicable after being fed?” 

That seemed to make sense to the guards, and so Pharaoh Atem hurried off to the kitchens; prepared what would appear to be a standard meal, for a prisoner—a simple loaf of bread, a jar of beer, and some boiled leeks—and then returned to the dungeons. He exchanged nods and smiles with the guards as he passed. 

“Well, good morning, Pharaoh,” the Thief King greeted him. He stretched languidly as if only just rousing himself; Atem could tell he’d been awake for some time. “Brought me treats?” 

“It’s almost a good thing my men insist on neglecting you,” Atem replied, once again letting himself into the cell and sitting down beside the King of Thieves. 

Bakura didn’t seem disappointed with the austere rations; indeed, he was genuinely and pleasantly shocked when he bit into the bread and found it stuffed with tender meat. He quickly lapped up some that had spilled out the sides, even as Atem produced the fruit and sweetbreads taken from his own breakfast table. 

“You’re stupid...!” the Thief King growled, lapping at his fingers. “Is this your plan, Pharaoh? Get me so used to this that I’ll never _want_ to leave? That I’ll just play tame in your dungeons forever?” 

“Well, it didn’t work the first time, so I doubt it will this time...” Atem murmured, then paused; said, even softer, “It’s no longer a case of ‘appealing to the pharaoh.’ I _am_ the Pharaoh, now. If you wanted to stay—“ 

“Enough,” Bakura growled. “I’ll tell you all about everything after I eat. Then you’ll get it. Then you’ll understand.” 

Atem fell obligingly silent; pulled out a senet board from under his robes, and set it up while Bakura ate. They played, keeping the board near Bakura’s bedding so that it could be hidden quickly if someone happened to walk by. By some strange, unspoken consensus, they never did get around to talking about matters of profound truth and understanding.

... ... ... 

“Pharaoh!”

Pharaoh Atem glanced up at the shout; Priest Seto was waving him over with one hand. Bracing himself, the Pharaoh heeded his priest’s summon. 

“We need to decide what we’re doing with that _thing_ down in the dungeons,” Seto said, as soon as Atem was within range. 

Atem sighed, remembering Bakura’s predictions with an internal cringe. “We don’t know where he came from, or what grievance—“ 

“That doesn’t matter,” Seto growled. “He threatened you. He killed four of our guards, and wounded a dozen more. He should be executed. Immediately.” 

Atem felt a chill race down his spine; fought to repress a visible shiver. _Seto..._ “I know you mean well...” he began, “but we can’t act rashly. His ka hasn’t been sealed, remember—if we try to kill him, it’s highly likely he’ll attack again.” 

Seto’s lip drew back. “Are you _afraid_ , Pharaoh?” 

“I’d like to avoid more bloodshed,” Atem said reasonably. “If we can determine why he came here, and furthermore why he submitted to capture, we may be able to settle things without more life lost.” 

“Listen to yourself!” Seto exclaimed. “You’re advocating _mercy_ for him, aren’t you?!” 

“Not necessarily,” Atem said, growing hot and uncomfortable. “If I thought we could put him to death without risking our own lives—“ 

“I can do it,” Seto said firmly. “Let me kill him, Pharaoh. Please.” 

“Not now, Seto!” Atem snapped, and his priest recoiled. “I know what I’m doing, where this is concerned! Do not question my judgement!” 

Seto drew himself up; looked as if he might argue, for a moment, and then lowered his head. “... As my pharaoh commands.” 

“As your pharaoh commands indeed!” Atem huffed, flustered; Seto raised an eyebrow. “Don’t test me on this, Seto!” 

And the priest dipped his head; repeated, slowly, “... As my pharaoh commands.”

... ... ... 

“Pharaoh.”

Atem jolted awake from where he’d fallen asleep at the desk in his study; muttered an apology, then looked up at Priestess Isis. He was more relieved than he’d care to admit that it wasn’t Seto who’d caught him dozing. 

Then Isis said, “May I speak to you, Lord? In private?” and Atem wondered if it may as well have been Seto who woke him. 

“O-Of course...” he murmured, and rose. The sun was beginning to set, and Atem thought that he should get Bakura’s supper to him as soon as he could manage. He followed Isis to her room, and he nodded graciously when she offered to pour wine. 

“This thief, in the dungeons,” Isis began, and Atem sighed; took a long drink of wine. 

“Yes? What about him?” 

Isis waited until he met her gaze; held it, unflinchingly. “I saw more than I said, in the throne room. When I used the Millennium Tauk.” 

Atem stiffened. “You did?” 

Isis nodded slowly; said, “I saw... the thief, as I said, in our dungeons. But I also saw... you, Lord, there with him. You were playing senet. And laughing, together.” 

Atem let out a shuttering breath. “Thank you... for not revealing that in the throne room, at that exact moment.” 

Isis inclined her head. “You don’t seem surprised.” 

“We played senet this morning. He won two of three.” 

Isis’ eyebrows arched, but all she said was, “Impressive. Not many people here in the palace can beat you, Lord.” 

Atem nodded, but didn’t elaborate. 

“I cannot see the past,” Isis said, sipping her wine. “I do not know what history you share with the thief. But I can see that you share some deep, genuine connection. And I trust you, as my Lord Pharaoh, so I won’t question you.” 

Atem dipped his head. “Thank you. Truly.” 

Isis sighed. “I saw something else, just this morning. A premonition. I saw the two of you—you, Lord, and this so-called King of Thieves—leaving the palace together. I foresaw a great journey.” 

Atem’s heart climbed up into his throat as if to choke him, and it took a moment for him to gather the breath to speak. "A great... journey?" 

Isis nodded. "Lord Pharaoh, are you... planning such a journey?" 

Atem shook his head; chuckled. "Planning...? No... not planning. But there is truth to your visions—there always has been, and I'm sure there will be this time, as well. Please, Isis... if I may, do not tell the others of these visions." 

Isis dipped her head. "Of course not, my Lord. But in return, please remember what you mean to us—to all of us. Do not act without considering our feelings." 

"Of course not." Atem smiled; felt a surge of warmth for the beautiful priestess. "Thank you, Lady Isis. Your wisdom, and your mastery of the Millennium Tauk, never fail to amaze." 

"My Lord honors me with such words."

... ... ... 

"Bakura... we need to talk. About things."

The Thief King nodded faintly; they were one meal and two games of mehen into the evening, down in the small dungeon cell, and the moment had arrived. They had delayed for as long as they realistically could, and both of them knew it. Atem, spurred by his earlier conversation with Isis, spoke first. 

Bakura sighed; said, "Alright... yeah. I did say I'd tell you everything, didn't I? When I came back?" 

"You did." 

"Alright... Alright, Atem. I'll tell you, then. But you have to promise me something before I do, okay?" 

Atem tilted his head—curious, and sincere when he said, "Anything." 

Bakura gave him a small, sad smile. "I'm a liar by trade, Pharaoh. But everything I'm about to tell you is the truth. You've gotta promise me that you'll believe me. I won't be able to stand it if you don't." 

And Atem nodded. "Of course. I'll believe you. I promise." 

Bakura took a deep breath; said, "Okay... alright, then. The Millennium Items... they were made by your father." 

"Mm. I had heard that." 

"But you were never told _how_ they were made, were you?" 

Atem shook his head. "No." 

"They were made by sacrificing one hundred human souls to the darkness—the souls of Kul Elna, the village of thieves. The souls of my village.”

... ... ...

The Pharaoh Atem did not sleep that night, and in the morning he sought out his priest.

“Mahad! A moment?” 

“Of course, my Lord,” Mahad replied, heeding Atem’s motion. He followed the Pharaoh to Atem’s own room, and then took a seat when Atem motioned him to. “What is it? Something you need of me, Lord?” 

Atem nodded; poured two glasses of wine. “Has my father been re-interred? The defenses around his tomb strengthened?” 

“Yes, Lord Pharaoh...” Mahad said. “Of course. It is ongoing, but much has already been done, and the previous pharaoh rests securely while we strengthen defenses further.” 

Atem nodded slowly. “Thank you, Mahad. I appreciate you greatly, as did my father before me.” 

Mahad lowered his head. “You honor me, Pharaoh. 

“A favor, Mahad. I need... a favor.” 

“Anything!” Mahad said immediately, then waited as Atem eased himself down into a seat across the table; slid a glass over. 

“Please. Have a drink.” 

Mahad shifted; took an obedient sip as the Pharaoh did the same. Atem shifted, fidgeted with his glass, then took another long drink. His gaze kept drifting to the golden object that hung, heavy, around Mahad’s neck, and Bakura’s story from the previous night thrummed in his ears. 

“I need a favor, Mahad.”

“Anything, my Lord.” 

“I need to borrow the Millennium Ring. And I need you to keep this a secret.” 

Madad’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Atem held his gaze; rotated his wine glass absently with the tips of his finger. 

“... I’m sorry, my Lord?” 

“No, _I'm_ sorry, to ask such a thing—“ Atem began, then shook his head. He cleared his throat; tried again. “I’m sorry to ask such a thing, loyal Mahad, and be unable to offer even an explanation. But it’s of the utmost importance. Please. I can trust only you with this request. Grant me this favor.” 

Mahad touched the talisman that hung around his neck—the Millennium Ring. “Pharaoh... the Millennium Ring, of all the Millennium Items...” 

Atem blinked. “What? What, of all the Millennium Items...?” 

Mahad shook his head slightly; traced the ring with one fingertip. “The Ring...” he murmured, and then met Atem’s curious gaze. “The Millennium Ring, of all the Items, carries within it a shadow of great and powerful darkness.” 

Atem stiffened, the tale Bakura had told him drawn even more powerfully into his mind. “Darkness?” 

“I... repress that evil, with my own power,” Mahad said gravely. “I do not know what would happen if it was allowed to act in this world.” 

“Do you know... where the darkness came from?” 

Mahad hesitated, then shook his head. “It is powerful, though. Hateful. And deep-seated.” 

Atem took a deep breath; said, “I’ll be careful. I just need it for a short time.” 

Mahad looked uncomfortable, but eventually reached up; took hold of the chain around his neck and pulled it up over his head. He held the Millennium Ring, contemplatively, in both hands, then held it out. 

“As you request, my Lord.” 

“Please, Mahad... there’s no need for such formality, my friend.” Atem took the Ring; felt a shiver travel through him, and couldn’t know whether it was a trick of his mind or not. 

Mahad smiled, just slightly. “My Lord Atem, then. Please be careful. The Ring holds powers that are unknown even to we six High Priests.” 

Atem nodded. “I will. Thank you, my friend.” 

“Anything, Lord, for your sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things that I adore about this fic is that it's given me the opportunity to play around with Mahad and Isis a bit~ They'll both certainly feature prominently in future chapters, as well! 
> 
> Please do leave a comment if you're so inclined~ They really make my day! Thank you for reading! ;w;


	4. We're chasing sun down; The darker the night, the stronger the light is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deepest apologies for vanishing! But please be assured this one isn't abandoned~ (none of my works are, really, but _especially_ not this one <3)
> 
> Thank you for your continued readership, and I hope you enjoy the newest chapter!

Oh oh  
Run, run just as fast as you can  
Can you see the light, so bright, surrounds you  
Fade, we begin to fade  
Then we reach out  
To grab the hand of fate  
Let's make this last forever  
Oh forever  
Let's make this last forever  
Oh oh  
Nowhere man, give me your hand  
Let me save you  
Let me save you  
Faithless man, give me your hand  
Let me save you  
Let me save you  
[Go (Let Me Save You) by Citizen Zero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5zqmskz7tc)

Bakura glanced up; smiled at Atem, from behind the cell’s bars. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Atem said, unlocking the door. He peered down the hallway once more before slipping inside, then dropped down and pulled something out from beneath his robes. “I got it!”

Bakura lit up. “So you did!” he exclaimed, reaching out. Atem willingly let him take the Millennium Ring, and the Thief King held it reverently in both palms. “The Millennium Ring... this is the first time I’ve held one—one of the Items.”

“You’ll take good care of it?”

Bakura nodded; tightened his grip on the cool golden metal. “The best care. You can count on that.”

_Darkness..._ Atem thought, chewing lightly on his lip as he recalled Mahad’s words. _But Bakura has undoubtedly dealt with worse darkness before, from within his own soul as well as his surroundings. And besides that, the dark power that Mahad sensed is likely the resentment and desire for vengeance of the villagers from Kul Elna. They have no reason to direct their ire at their sole survivor, Bakura. The Ring should pose no threat, to him of all people._

_“In Kul Elna, there’s a temple,”_  the Thief King had told him, the night before. _“That’s where the Millennium Items were formed. When all seven are brought there, it’ll open the way to darkness. A great power lies dormant there, a shadow power capable of destroying the world—the power your father harnessed and exploited, through the sacrifice of Kul Elna. That’s what I’m after.”_

_Atem mulled over what Bakura had told him; the thief allowed him to think. Then he asked, “And you’ll release this shadow power? What will you do then?”_

_“I’ll destroy the world—_ your  _world,” Bakura replied. “Your peace was built on the lives of my family—I won’t forgive anyone for that. Your father might be dead, but the whole kingdom still benefits from the fact that my family_ _was_ murdered, _their souls lost forever. I’ll see the whole of Egypt meet the same fate as Kul Elna did.”_

_“I... believe you,” Atem said slowly, and Bakura seemed visibly relieved._

_“I don’t want you to die,” the King of Thieves continued. “When you turned out to be the Pharaoh, I thought it might be unavoidable. But you believe me. I don’t have to kill you.”_

"I foresee a great journey," _Isis had said, and Atem seized upon that. “Could we go there?" he asked. "To Kul Elna? To see the tablet?”_

_Bakura blinked. “Why, before I collect all the Items? Do you..._  not really _believe me?”_

_Atem shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I’d just... I’d like to see it. There won’t be time, later. I’d like to see your old home. I’ve always wondered about where you came from—this place that ‘didn’t exist anymore.’”_

_Bakura thought about that for a while, and then said,_ “Alright... Pharaoh. _We can go for a little trip. But I’ve got one condition.”_

_“Anything.”_

_“Get me one of the Millennium Items. Not your own Pendant, either—we should both travel with one. For safety.”_

The King of Thieves was still staring in awe at the Millennium Ring, turning it over in his hands. When he looked back up at Atem, at last, he asked, “So we’re doing this? For real?”

Atem nodded. _If I can appeal to you... in some way without losing your trust... if I can just change your mind, show you that this isn’t your only path forward..._ “Yes. I have a couple more things to tend to, today, but we can leave as soon as the sun sets.”

“Don’t want Ra to witness the Pharaoh running off with the King of Thieves?” Bakura asked, his lip curling in a mock snarl.

Atem scoffed. “Ra will travel with us,” he said, with certainty. “All the gods will.”

“Even the god monsters?”

“Even the god monsters. _Especially_ the god monsters.”

... ... ...

Priest Seto did not look happy. Then again, Atem thought, Priest Seto rarely looked happy. The High Priest was striding toward the Pharaoh with an unnerving brand of determination, and Atem wondered idly if he could outrun the priest.

Probably not—his legs were quite a bit shorter, after all.

“Pharaoh! Have you reached a decision?!”

“A decision?” Atem echoed, keeping his shoulders squared; he met Seto’s gaze. “Regarding?”

“The _thief_!” Seto snarled, halting. “If he gets free, all of the work putting your father to rest once more may be destroyed!”

Atem sighed, making an effort to look annoyed; in reality, frantically seeking a distraction, a change of subject. “I know you, Seto. That’s certainly _not_ what you’re so concerned about.”

Seto stiffened; muttered, “Of course I—“

“You can’t have his ka, Seto,” Atem said, seizing upon a well-worn debate between them. “Even if we manage to capture it, it’s too dangerous. Forget it.”

Seto’s face flushed. “I was not—“

“You were.” Atem cut him off. “This lust for powerful spirit monsters is dangerous, Seto. Greed serves no man well.”

“Why does it sound like you’re _defending_ him?” Seto demanded, an edge to his voice.

“I’m not,” Atem said. “I’m protecting _you_. Bakura’s ka is dangerous—and, as I told you _before_ , we have no idea why he’s surrendered, or what could trigger him to attack again.”

“You’re being far too cautious, Pharaoh,” Seto growled. “For all we know, he could be biding his time down there, gathering his strength for a whole new assault on us!”

_You’re the one who’s ordered he not be fed, aren’t you? To weaken him..._ It occurred to Atem suddenly, anger sweeping over him like a hot desert wind. But he bit back a harsh rebuke—he should have no way of knowing such things. So instead he said, “It will be dealt with, Seto. Have faith.”

Seto ground his teeth, but eventually lowered his head. “Of course... Pharaoh...”

“Dismissed,” Atem said—harsher than he usually would, but needing to put the conversation to rest.

Priest Seto looked duly surprised, but then nodded; left, without another word. Atem watched him go, anxiety frothing in his stomach.

_Seto... will you come after me? Of course you will... oh gods, delay him... let us not meet in battle... I pray... I pray..._

... ... ...

“What do you see, Isis? How does the future appear?”

Isis shook her head slowly. The Pharaoh had come to seek her council before setting off, and they were sharing a glass of wine beside the open window of her room. The sunset had turned the sky a brilliant array of reds and golds.

“It is... undetermined,” she said, after a moment. “I see a storm—great gusts of wind laden with sand conceal the paths ahead. It is impossible to know which one fate will lead us down, or what waits at the end of each.”

Atem nodded slowly. “We will forge ahead, then, and choose for ourselves.”

“We’ll have to come after you,” Isis said gently. “I don’t need the Millennium Tauk to show me that.”

Atem nodded faintly; swirled his wine. “Have you foreseen what I’m about to ask of you, Lady Isis?”

She shook her head, but said, “I don’t need the Millennium Tauk for that, either.”

“Since Mahad is without the Ring, they’ll look predominantly to you for direction,” Atem said, then shifted. “I realize the difficulties—“

“I will do whatever I can to aid you, Lord Atem,” Isis said, folding a hand gently over his. “I cannot see the future of one who holds a Millennium Item, but there are tricks—I can manage to keep you in my sights, as you travel. Bakura, King of Thieves, did not yet hold an item when I first foresaw your journey, so I know the general path you will take. I will mislead the others, as you wish. Or, if I foresee danger, on this journey, I will lead them directly to you. You must accept that.”

Atem bowed his head. “I trust your judgement, Lady Isis. Thank you.”

She took and squeezed his hand, gently. “Be safe, Lord Atem. Please promise me that.”

“I swear it.”

... ... ...

When Atem crept down to the dungeons, that night, he was dressed in traveling clothes. Bakura was awake; waiting.

“Ready to go?” Atem asked, slipping into the cell.

Bakura nodded; pulled up the cowl on his cloak. “Ready.” He held out a hand, and Atem took it willingly. “Where are we headed?”

“The stables. I’ve prepared horses and travel bags.”

Bakura nodded, then placed his free hand on the wall of the cell. “Come out, Diabound,” he breathed, and tightened his grip on Atem’s hand.

A glimmering while serpent slithered our from within Bakura’s sleeve; it touched its nose to the wall, and Atem felt an odd _thrum_ of energy travel through his body.

“Let’s go,” Bakura murmured, and moved forward. Atem instinctively held his breath as he followed the thief through what should have been solid stone, but what instead shimmered and slid past them like calm water. Bakura moved confidently forward, that one hand stretched out ahead, until they had navigated all the way to the stables. A few of the horses startled when they melted into existence, but they arrived otherwise unnoticed.

Atem gasped when Bakura dropped his hand, feeling shaky and strange for their trip through the walls. “That was quite something!”

Bakura grinned over at him. “You weren’t expecting a show like that one in the throne room, where you?”

“A bit, yes...”

“I’m a thief, before anything else. Discretion's usually worth more than any flashy show of power.”

“Worked perfectly this time...” Atem breathed, and then led the way over to the two horses he had pulled aside. Bakura nodded approvingly; mounted the obsidian-coated steed, and Atem scrambled up onto his own roan stallion. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid detection on the way out. There’s no gap in guard-coverage large enough for horses to slip through.”

“You think my ka only has one skill?” Bakura asked, and Atem glanced over in surprise.

“What?”

“Diabound!” Bakura called softly, and his ka appeared once again—at its full size, this time, but almost transparent; insubstantial. It moved, at Bakura’s motion, to encompass them both, and Atem shuddered at the sudden chill. “There! Now, he can’t do anything about sound, so do be sure not to talk until we’re clear.”

“You mean—?!”

“We’re both quite invisible now, Pharaoh,” Bakura said, with a grin. “Didn’t I say? Discretion is often a thief’s deadliest weapon.”

Atem laughed breathlessly; said, “Let’s go, then!”

Side-by-side, within Diabound’s protective shadow, the Pharaoh and the Thief King rode straight out the palace’s front entrance. Atem could hardly resist the exuberant shout that built in his throat, but glanced over at Bakura; took in his calm, determined expression, and borrowed some of that energy.

When they were clear of the palace, Diabound dissipated with a shimmer; Bakura raised himself up and stretched forward, then glanced over at Atem.

“Great Thoth, we’re out!” he exclaimed, and then laughed.

Atem nodded; it was an odd thing, he thought, for Bakura to say, when the Thief King clearly could’ve left any time he felt like it. But then Bakura said it again, with more emphasis:

“ _We're_  out, Atem!”

Atem nodded; called back, “We’re out, Bakura!”

The Thief King, then, gave a triumphant shout; cracked his reigns and took off into the desert night, plumes of sand kicked up in his wake. Atem, surprised, gave chase; felt the wind tear through his whole body. He wondered if the flight of hawks could feel so different, and decided not. 

_“I’m alone, in this world,”_ Bakura had said, after he’d told Atem the tale of Kul Elna. _“There are two reasons I’m still alive—the first is vengeance. I won’t die so easily, when I’m the only one left who can avenge my family._

_“But even with that... I don’t know if I would’ve died, for sure, but I’d gone half-mad by the time you appeared. Grief and hunger warp a person, especially a kid. But you appeared, and gave me a second reason to stay alive—I made a promise to you. And that kept me going. Revenge can motivate a person, but it isn’t exactly something you look forward to. Keeping a promise is. You can look forward to seeing someone again. And that’s what I did.”_

_You say you’re alone..._  Atem thought, gazing over at the thief riding beside him, _but you’re not. And you know it, somewhere within you. I won’t let you destroy this world, or yourself. I’ll take responsibility for whatever horrible things my father did... and I’ll make what small reparations I can, by saving you._

They rode deep into the night, until the horses were exhausted. By then, dawn was tinting the horizon pink, and they both pulled up hoods as they dismounted. Bakura took the lead, and Atem allowed it willingly.

“I’ll show you a good spot,” the Thief King said, bypassing an inn on the main road and curving down an alleyway. Atem followed, though his horse fidgeted nervously in the narrow space. When Bakura reached a shoddy little construct, he stopped; unburdened the horses, handing a couple of bags to Atem, and then rapped on a little door. He used one arm to sweep Atem subtly behind him, and the Pharaoh heeded him.

A ragged little old man answered the door; exclaimed, “Thiefy! What’s this I hear about you getting yourself caught?”

“Nothing that kept me from being here this morning,” Bakura replied. “Need a room; care for two horses.”

“Got a friend?” the old man asked, peering around Bakura; the Thief King moved subtly to block his view.

“Since when have you made your living asking questions like that?”

The old man gave a wheezing laugh, then stepped aside. Bakura caught Atem’s wrist and led him inside, handing his reigns to the old man as he passed. Atem followed, keeping his head low; the old man gave another wheezy chuckle as Atem handed him his horse's lead.

“Nice, soft hands on that one!” he called to Bakura, who rounded; bore his teeth.

“Keep your yapping to yourself!” Bakura snarled, but there was a coy edge to it, and his lip twitched in something that was almost a grin. “You never saw _anything_.”

“Do I ever?” the old man replied, then cackled. “Take number three!”

“Got it.” Bakura raised a hand, then carried on. The place was much roomier past the small door, and Atem stared in wonder as they emerged into what certainly looked like any respectable inn. Bakura didn’t slow until they reached an entryway marked with three etched lines; Atem was grateful the room was one equipped with a door, rather than a mere curtain like some were.

Once inside, the Thief King gave a tremendous sigh; dropped the bags and then flopped down onto the ratty mattress that lay on the floor, sprawling out on his back. A few moments later, though, he sat up; met Atem’s gaze playfully.

“That was a good one. That was good. You did real well.”

“I did well?” Atem asked, perplexed.

Bakura nodded. “The old man knows not to ask stupid questions. He was hoping to get some reaction out of _you_ , but you didn’t give him so much as a twitch!”

“Oh... I see.”

“Even if every soul in the palace is out looking for you tomorrow, they won’t find you. And no one here will rat on me, be damned sure of that. Better you stay out of sight, though.” Bakura began to root around in the travel bags, seemingly more out of curiosity than anything, and added, “He assumed you were a whore, by the way. That’s what that comment about your hands was all about.”

Atem had pulled out a water-skin for a drink; choked violently, and Bakura laughed as he spluttered. “He _what_?!”

“Probably why he assigned us a room with a door, so it’s a good thing,” the Thief King said. “And it’s not like I ever told him that—he just assumed.”

Atem snorted. “Aah... my priests would have a _fit_.”

“I think the old man’d have a fit, if he knew,” Bakura said, with a smirk. Then he sobered; said, “Come here, for a sec.”

Atem obeyed; sat beside the Thief King, when he was bade to do so. Bakura’s grey eyes were deep and serious, though Atem couldn’t help but remember when they had been clouded with fever and weakness.

“I’m a wanted criminal, for sure,” Bakura began, “but there’s no reward in the world that folks like this would turn me in for. They know I’d come back and skin them alive for it. You’re a different story. If they realize who you are, you’ll be in serious danger—very serious danger.”

“I know that,” Atem replied. “I’ll be careful.”

Bakura held his gaze for another moment, then breathed out slowly; said, “Good,” and pulled some gold out of one bag. “I’m gonna go get us something to eat. Stay here, okay?”

“Alright.”

Atem tried not to grow too anxious in the Thief King’s absence; he pulled the Millennium Pendant out from beneath his robes and stared into its polished side. _My disappearance has likely been discovered, by now... Mahad, I’m so sorry... Isis, thank you..._

_Seto, please don’t loose your mind entirely!_

Bakura returned quietly, slipping into the room; the click of the door made Atem glance up. The Thief King sat beside the Pharaoh, on the little mattress; passed him some bread and salted meat.

“I know that’s from the palace,” he said, motioning to the water-skin Atem had been drinking from, “but don’t drink any plain water out here. It’s not safe.”

“Thanks,” Atem murmured. “I’d heard that...”

They ate their meal largely in silence; at some point, afterwards, Bakura pulled the Millennium Ring out and held it, reverently. He glanced over at the Millennium Pendant, hanging against Atem’s chest.

“... I can feel them,” he said, eventually. “Their hatred. Their anger. I can feel their souls. It hurts.”

Atem nodded slowly. “Priest Mahad spoke of something similar... he interpreted it as evil, though.”

“Evil is a relative concept,” Bakura said. “I’m sure they’re cursing me as ‘evil’ this morning, even more than before, finding us both missing. No one would ever think you’d leave with me of your own will.”

“Priestess Isis knows,” Atem said. “She foresaw this, with the Millennium Tauk. She told me she would do her best to mislead the others, once they come after us.”

Bakura looked duly surprised, but all he said was, “You have some loyal underlings, Pharaoh—one who hands over his Millennium Item as a favor and another who will knowingly mislead her comrades, at your request.”

“They’re good people,” Atem murmured. “I’m nervous about Priest Seto, of all of them. My uncle, too...”

“They’ll stop at nothing?”

Atem nodded. “Priest Seto, especially. And not only for my sake—as far as he’s concerned, any rescue mission may be secondary, an excuse to come after you.”

Bakura rose; Atem glanced up, surprised. “What? Why?!”

“He’s been rather fixated on collecting powerful ka for a while, now,” Atem replied, and saw Bakura begin to bristle. “I'm sure your appearance, with Diabound, has roused those desires in him.”

“He _wishes_ he could control my Diabound!” Bakura snarled. “And if he’s more concerned with _that_ then with rescuing _you_... what scum you have working for you, Pharaoh!”

Atem chuckled. “He’s not so bad, most time. But when he gets focused on a thing, everything else falls to second place in his mind.”

Bakura spat furiously; started to pace. Atem wondered where the sudden aggression had come from, and watched the hypnotic bump of the Ring against Bakura’s chest.

“I won’t go easy on that one!” Bakura snarled. “The others—maybe. Because they’re important to you. But this Seto? And Akhenamkhanen’s brother? I’ll kill them—I hope you know that.”

Atem could only nod; hope that, perhaps, Bakura’s mind could be changed before any actual battle could occur.

“The one who lent you the Ring...” Bakura continued absently, picking up and gazing down at the Millennium Ring, “and this Lady Isis... they’ve helped me, too, on this journey, and I won’t forget that. But the others... Akhenaden especially... and this _wretched_ Seto fellow...! Thinks he can take my Diabound like some common _filth_ ka...”

After a few more moments of pacing, Bakura seemed to calm; took a couple of deep breaths and sat, heavily, on the dusty floor. His knuckles had grown pale with how tightly he was clutching the Millennium Ring, and he hung his head as if spent.

“You sleep there...” he muttered, after a moment. “It should be fine for us to sleep at the same time... This is a good place... safe to sleep... no need for shifts.”

Atem nodded; the idea of sleeping in shifts reminded him of how dangerous their situation might truly be, and he took a deep breath.

“If you’d like, I don’t mind sharing the bed.”

Bakura blinked, the hostility of a moment before dissipating. “Nah... I couldn’t do that. The innocent Pharaoh? In bed with the despicable King of Thieves? What _would_ your father say?”

Atem cringed at the mention of his father, but Bakura didn’t seem to mean anything by it. So he scooted further to the side, and said, “It’s big enough.”

“I’ll bet your private bed at the palace is _far_ bigger,” Bakura said, and then shook his head. “No. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“You were sleeping on the floor in the dungeons,” Atem said, growing more insistent to match Bakura’s resistance. “Your back must be sore.”

“I’ve slept on the ground more nights than not, Pharaoh. My back is fine.”

“Then maybe I should get used to sleeping on the ground, too,” Atem said, sliding off the bed to sit beside Bakura.

The Thief King looked duly unimpressed. “You’re so damn _soft_ you wouldn’t be able to _move_ when you woke up.”

“Well, then that’ll just be too bad,” Atem replied. “I’m going to sleep wherever you sleep.”

“You bratty little—!” Bakura grit his teeth; took a deep breath, and then chuckled. “You’re actually impossible...”

The Thief King relented; climbed up onto the bed and faced the wall, his back pointedly to Atem. The Pharaoh did the same, lying down so they were back to back. The bed was big enough for them to be able to avoid physical contact, if they both clung to their respective edges. All at once, though, the Thief King sat up; startled Atem nearly enough to pitch him off the bed.

“You sleep over here,” the Thief King growled, one hand gripping the Millennium Ring against his chest. “If anyone comes in, that way... yeah. You sleep here, by the wall.”

Atem nodded, somewhat amazed by the Thief King’s insistence. He obeyed, settling in facing the wall. Before he thought would be possible, exhaustion took over; he was dragged into sleep, with the sound of the Thief King’s breath beside him.


End file.
